Dates In Hexadecimals
by KassandraScarlett
Summary: Scott had not planned on being taken in by an attractive officer. He most definitely planned on asking him out on a date, though. (Cross-posted on AO3)


Scott hummed to himself as he picked the lock. There was silence in his ear, a sharp contrast to the usual chatter that accompanied him while working. He didn't think much of it. Chad must have somehow managed to shut Luis up, a miracle in and of itself.

Wait! Scott stopped fiddling with his tools, listening intently. That had sounded like a muted scuffle, like a cut off gasp.

"Luis?" He whispered. "Hey, Luis, man, you there?"

No answer. Instead, there was a small tap on his shoulder.

Turning on his heel with a shriek yell, he found a man in police uniform, standing with one hand on his hip, the other holding a gun, obviously what he'd tapped his shoulder with, which, hello, dangerous thing to do with a gun.

"Easy, little girl," he drawled. "No need to scream, I'm not here to bite your head off."

"No, I know," Scott grumbled, ignoring the 'little girl' comment. "You're here to arrest me. I don't see how that's more appealing."

"Right." He nodded, pleased. "Got it in one. Let's go then, your friends must be getting worried." He looked around themselves, taking in the room. "Did you manage to break the lock?"

"No," he sighed. "It's a complicated one, so it would have taken a few more minutes."

The officer, Stark, according to his name tag, smirked, which was a very attractive look on him, Scott noticed, absently. "Gotta up your game. Here, I thought Pym's men were the most efficient thieves in the city."

Scott stiffened slightly. "Who said anything about Pym?"

Stark laughed. "Please, it's no secret that he hates the Shield Security Services with a passion. The little spat they had, followed by a very suspiciously timed retirement; all very telling. No one would be crazy enough to break into this place, unless they were being paid very well. And the only person who would pay well for it is one Dr Hank Pym." He sighed, a little theatrically. "Pity there's no proof. Unless you act as witness."

"Which I won't," Scott said pleasantly. Because, why confess and get a light sentence, when Pym would just bail him out immediately? "Because I don't work for him and I have nothing to do with him."

He smiled glibly at Stark, who stared back in some annoyance.

Barely two days later, after being bailed out, he winked at Tony, as he'd learned his name was, on the way out.

Tony mockingly tipped an imaginary hat. "Don't forget to up your game, Lang." But there was a genuine smile playing on his lips.

* * *

Tony shone the flashlight down the edges of the safe. It had been a very smooth job, a very grand robbery of a couple billion dollars, so, no biggie.

Privately, Tony wanted to congratulate whoever the thief was. Everyone knew how deep in scams VistaCorps was.

"Hold up a minute, Rogers," he called out as the squadron leader ordered everyone out. "I think I've got something."

Peering closer at the edge, he could see tiny notches in the metal, made very deliberately if the even spaces and sizes were any indication.

For a few seconds, Tony stared at them, trying to make sense of it. It wasn't Morse... He got it a few minutes later.

"Hexadecimals," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

"Stark, what did you find?" Rogers asked in a yell.

Tony made a stupid decision in a split second. "It's nothing, I was wrong," he yelled back. VistaCorps deserved it anyways. Who was Tony to help capture a well-meaning Robin Hood?

* * *

Scott's phone rang two days after the VistaCorps job. "Hel-looo?" He greeted absently.

"When I told you to up your game," a somewhat familiar voice replied. "I did not mean for you to leave your phone number in hexadecimals. Who the hell knows how to decipher stuff like that?"

Scott couldn't help grinning. "Well, you deciphered it," he reminded. "I mean, seven PhDs in various fields? I'd be surprised if you hadn't."

"I see you've done your homework," Tony said dryly.

"What's a literal prodigy like you even doing in the police force?" He wondered.

"Oh, I don't know," Tony hummed airily. "What's an Electrical Engineering graduate doing as a professional thief?"

"Good point," Scott laughed. "You want to discuss it over coffee?"

"Make it coffee and donuts, and I'll see you tomorrow evening."

"You're on."


End file.
